


Blind Devotion

by xixa



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, If You Squint - Freeform, It's an AU, M/M, Maybe angst, One Shot, Short Ass One Shot, based on a short film by the same name and maybe just watch that instead of reading this, but not really, it's fine, they're not in space and are somewhere in their twenties
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-24
Updated: 2017-08-24
Packaged: 2018-12-19 05:39:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11891172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xixa/pseuds/xixa
Summary: Because that’s what true love is right? There’s more than just a feeling.or, a thing happens and they work through it in a tone of third person that is a special brand of far too personal and inconsistent





	Blind Devotion

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of [this ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_99ySDoC1fw) beautiful short film. It's exactly that but I tried to write it down in words because my first response to anything beautiful is 'hey what if klance'. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I really Do Not know how to write things down in words and never have but several months ago promised a friend I would write something for them and today a different friend enabled me so here it is

He presses his face into the pillow squeezing sleep out of his eyes before opening them; everything is warm and soft. 

He loves his boyfriend, he really does. He loves him even though his snoring wakes him up every morning; like it has ever since the first time he woke up next to Keith, thinking that someone had broken into his house using only a lawn mower.

So, he scares him awake. His divine retribution seeing Keith jump out of his skin as soon as Lance’s fingers dance down his sides. Keith has always been sensitive; but also dangerously fast. He grabs a pillow wasting no time and throws it at Lance’s laughing face, taking the chance while Lance is disoriented to assault him with tickling fingers demanding an apology.  

Lance is laughing so hard he’s crying, gasping his sorry as Keith tries to hold back his own laughter. Right as Keith slides his fingers along Lances third rib, Lance almost throws him off the bed. They erupt into another bout of laughter, a tangle of sleepy limbs shaking as their bodies struggle against the joy rumbling in their chest.

Keith buries his face into Lance’s shoulder once his laughter subsides and groans deeply; today was one of his rare mornings off. Lance runs his fingers through Keith’s hair trying to soothe the assault his pillow made during the night and he promises him breakfast instead.

 

The Food Network says you should only put one item in your eggs, two if you’re feeling fancy. Keith isn’t fancy. Keith likes putting everything in them because that’s how his mom made them. He calls it eggs with everything. Lance calls it gross.

But that’s how Keith loves them, so that’s how Lance makes them. And when Keith walks up behind him sleep uncurling from his throat and whispers that it smells wonderful against his shoulder before kissing it, Lance thinks the mess on his chopping board is worth it.

 

He lets Keith do the dishes, but Lance does all the laundry. 

 

When Lance was small enough to fit in a laundry basket, he’d sit with his mother on the nights she’d wash his father’s clothes and listen as she told him that a man with dirty clothes is a man that is not loved. 

He knows this is old fashioned. An old wives’ tale meant for young brides, but now Keith’s whites are always white, and all his co-workers will know he’s loved. Keith always promises to do it next time, but Lance will never let him.

Keith holds the front door open for Lance as they leave and Lance knows Keith loves him. Because every time he heads off to work in the opposite direction, he feels Keith linger at the open door.

“Hey Lance” he always calls out, “you look beautiful” and Lance can’t stop the laugh that flutters from him as he sees Keith standing there, and he thinks to himself, yeah, you do.

 

One of Lance’s favourite things is his commute to work. 

He crosses the same street every day. The cross signal is so old it doesn’t make a beeping noise when it’s clear but, Lance has walked this path so many times he could do it with his eyes closed. He knows what to expect.

He doesn’t expect the sudden horn going off as a car slides on its brakes in front of him. Nor is he ready for the dizzying bright spots in his vision he’s sure weren’t there before. He feels like he’s dizzy, like maybe the ground won’t stop moving or maybe that’s just him. 

He feels like his eyes are underwater, like he can see light reflected in the mirror of the surface just before he breaks it. His hands stretched before him trying to touch it but falling empty. 

He feels the rush of people brushing around him as he’s carried in their tide across to the other side of the road. He thinks he’s blinking but he’s not sure. Everything is still too bright, pulsing around him. Or maybe that’s his own heart beat rattling inside his head. He’s still not sure.

 

He thinks that’s a H, but it might also be an R, or maybe an N—no wait, this one is an N, that other one was—what, what do letters look like when they’re not all melting into each other; when they’re not conspiring against him.

He thinks this is a trick question. How can he follow the light when the light keeps blinking on and off, flashing out Morse code answers to a question he’s not sure he wants the answer to.

The doctor says it looks like FCED, or Fuchs’ Corneal Endothelial Dystrophy. Lance isn’t sure what that means but he feels his chest tighten. The doctor continues, something about a build-up of something, Lance isn’t sure what, but he understands.

 

He’s going blind.

 

A rare disease he can barely pronounce is taking away his vision. 

He will probably lose his whole career over it. What good is an architect who can’t see what he’s building. He wouldn’t know a brick if it hit him in the face. He laughs at that until it makes him cry because that’s dumb, he’s never had to build the houses himself. 

He can feel himself crying and he’s pretty sure some of it slipped off his cheek and onto the page holding the design he’s been working on for the past few weeks. It’s fine though, because he works in pencil anyway, so it won’t smudge. It’s fine.

 

He can’t scare Keith in the mornings anymore. 

He sits up in bed and faces where he knows the window is, letting his eyes try to react to the light, try to focus. He doesn’t notice Keith move in the bed behind him until he feels hands grab at his sides and Keith yells loudly with a smile Lance can hear but not feel. 

He can’t help the way he flinches away from him, pushes him away. Even when Keith tries a second time to wrap his arms around him, he feels himself breathe heavy suddenly on the verge of tears he didn’t feel creep over his eyes and tells him sharply not to do that. He feels Keith still, slowly and softly, moving towards him asking if he’s okay and saying he’s sorry with a tone Lance never wanted to hear in Keith but doesn’t have in him to fix. He brushes Keith off when he puts his hands on his shoulders and tells him to leave him alone.

 

What is he supposed to tell him?

 

Keith follows him into the kitchen a few minutes later and Lance can feel the mess he’s made. Knows he felt eggshells fall into the bowl of yolk and egg whites.  Knows Keith can probably see this too but hold his chin up and stills the quiver in his lip when Keith asks if he’s okay. He hopes Keith doesn’t see the way his hands tremble slightly with uncertainty as he cracks another egg into where he thinks he put the bowl. Keith asks him if he’s sure and Lance says yes, right before dropping a handful of what he thinks is chopped tomatoes. He feels Keith rush to his side on the floor gently brushing his hands against his.

 

He can’t make his eggs with everything. 

 

He feels Keith grab a cloth and push his hands away to help clear the mess Lance made and he’s apologising again. He’s sorry about what he did. Lance hears himself tell Keith to stop. Tell Keith to go and let him do this. Keith’s hands won’t budge from his no matter how many times he pushes them away.

 

Keith asks if he had a bad dream. Lance wishes he could open his eyes.

 

Instead he raises his voice to something stronger than he feels and tells Keith to “lay off, okay?” but it’s not okay, because Keith is apologising again. He’s sorry about what he did, he didn’t mean to scare him and he’s sorry and Lance breathes out a shaky okay.

 

The people Keith works with are going to think Lance stopped caring about him. 

 

He throws the shirt he can’t see into the basket he can’t see and throws it onto the floor somewhere behind him where he’s sure even if he could see it, he wouldn’t. He drops to the floor with it. This time he can’t stop the shaking as it bubbles up his chest and comes out in hollow sobs that steal his breath away.

He can’t see Keith standing in the doorway.

 

Lance doesn’t want to talk to Keith. He doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t want Keith to hold the door open for him or follow after when he leaves.

Something is wrong and he won’t tell Keith what it is. Lance doesn’t want to talk and Keith just wants to listen. Lance tries to ignore the way Keith’s face drifts in and out of focus. Attributes his lack of eye contact to his bitchy mood and not the fact that his eyes think there’s too much light but also not enough.

He just wants to breathe and walk to work alone. He can’t. Keith won’t let him. Won’t give him his sanctuary. Lance tries to ignore the way please falls out of Keith’s mouth and winds into his chest.

He can tell it’s dark now and that Keith hasn’t moved an inch in the last thirty seconds.

 

How do you tell the person you love that you’re going blind?

 

He feels Keith hold his hand and pull him up with a squeeze and he lets him lead the way. Squeezes back until he pulls his hand out of Keith’s.

(He knows where they are. It’s the roof above their apartment. There’s a small garden Lance strung fairy lights around. He can see them twinkle in and out of focus. He knows he should be able to see the city too.  He knows this. But his eyes don’t.)

He can’t help but think that he’s becoming Keith’s patient, not his partner. He doesn’t try to stop himself from crying there in the dark.

Maybe Keith would be happier with someone else. Someone who wouldn’t be a burden.

 

Lance watches the shapes he sees blur and fade into one another and he’s not sure if that’s just his vision or the tears. He can’t tell the difference. Doesn’t think there is one.

 

Keith opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is the bright blue of every ocean he saw as a kid; it’s all there in Lance's eyes.

His boyfriend is going blind, and he doesn’t want his help.

He watches Lance lie in bed stiller than Keith has ever seen him, until he slowly swings his legs off to the side and gets up. Keith doesn’t move. 

He wants to wake up every morning and tell Lance he loves him. 

He watches his fingertips trace along the blinds on their bedroom window as he tries to make his way to the door with as little casualties as possible. He wants to tell him that it’s all going to be okay.

But Lance doesn’t want to hear any of it. 

 

He watches Lance grope around the counter for ingredients. Somehow, he’s worked out how to differentiate by touch. He knows Lance can overcome anything, even blindness, as he watches him slice peppers slowly, his hand steady. Keith wishes he could do all the cooking but Lance insists on doing it on his own.

He’s even figured out the laundry. 

 

Keith silently watches him carefully examine every piece of laundry, holding it up close to his face and running it through his hands as if he can feel the colors. Keith thinks he probably can. Lance won’t let him do this either, but Keith doesn’t mind giving in when he sees the gentle smile that washes across Lance's face.

 

Lance still insists on going to work and taking the bus alone; but he lets Keith hold the door open for him now and leans in when Keith kisses his cheek. 

His heart stops every time he thinks about Lance crossing the streets of downtown alone; he uses a walking stick now, but that’s not the same.

So even though Lance doesn’t want him to, Keith follows him every day without him knowing.

He always sits a few seats back from him on the bus, newspaper in hand like a poor disguise out of a cartoon as if he’s afraid Lance is going to turn around any second and catch him where he shouldn’t be. He’s almost tempted to cut eyeholes into it. Almost.

He holds his hands up to gently stop cars as Lance takes a little longer to get through the crossing than most people usually do. He’d stop the ocean if Lance needed him too. 

He watches as someone pulls out Lances desk chair for him and look up to notice him standing there. Keith puts his finger to his lips. 

He doesn’t leave until he sees Lance sit down, and he nods in appreciation to the kind stranger.

Because that’s what true love is; there’s more than just a feeling. It’s an action.

 

Tomorrow morning, like today; like yesterday; like the day before that and like every other morning since Lance told him; he will gently brush a tomato into Lance's softly wandering hand that he knows is silently looking for it. Never saying a word. Just smiles softly to himself with a look Lance can’t see, but that doesn’t matter– they’ve never done things for show anyway.

 

Lance will never know how much Keith does for him, and Keith doesn’t ever need him to know.

That’s how he still loves Lance, even though Lance doesn’t want him to.

**Author's Note:**

> Gotta love uncertain use of semicolons and equally excessive commas am I right folks?
> 
> Sorry about the everything can you tell it's my first time? Feel free to lmk what you think and how to Do Better Next Time (if there is a next time) and I hope yall have a beautiful ass day.


End file.
